Educated people don’t believe in unicorns. Or mermaids. Or Atlantis, Bigfoot, or the Fountain of Youth. These are dismissed as charming myths—cultural artifacts with no empirical backing. And rightly so. We’ve combed the forests, dredged the lakes, and carbon-dated the ruins. No horned horses. No fish-women. No golden cities.
But God? That’s different.
Despite the same lack of physical evidence, belief in God is not only accepted—it’s revered. Taught in schools, sworn on in courtrooms, and invoked in campaign speeches. The same minds that scoff at fairy tales will defend divine presence with philosophical rigor and moral urgency.
This isn’t a jab at faith—it’s a spotlight on the intellectual gymnastics required to hold both positions. The educated skeptic who demands peer-reviewed proof for mythical beasts will often grant God a pass. “It’s about faith,” they say. “Transcendence. Meaning.”
But why does God get the exemption? Why not the unicorn, who at least has the decency to sparkle?
Maybe it’s not about evidence at all. Maybe it’s about utility. God offers moral scaffolding, community, and cosmic comfort. Unicorns offer glitter and horn-based combat. One gets a cathedral; the other gets a Lisa Frank folder.
So, we believe what serves us. Not what’s proven. And maybe that’s the real myth: that educated people believe only what’s true.
This isn’t a call to abandon belief. It’s a call to examine it. To ask why some unproven ideas are cherished while others are ridiculed. To recognize that even the most rational minds are shaped by culture, emotion, and need.
And if we’re going to believe in things unseen, maybe we should give the unicorn a second chance. At least she never started a war.
Peace & Love, and all of the above,
Earl
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